


give it to me straight (when you're sober)

by fromaseance



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, But he is also very whipped for Taeyong, Clothed Sex, Confessions, Dry Humping, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Jaehyun is an asshole, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, meanwhile taeyong is fed up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 18:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21184319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromaseance/pseuds/fromaseance
Summary: Jaehyun regularly confesses to Taeyong when he's drunk, and Taeyong never takes him seriously.





	give it to me straight (when you're sober)

**Author's Note:**

> i just needed to write loosely for once, so apologies for any errors as i didn't proofread this! enjoy reading.

At exactly 2:35 AM, Taeyong jolts awake to the sound of an alarm, loud and grating amid the silence of the early morning. The realization that he’d taken an accidental nap comes instantaneously, followed by an almost involuntary groan from his throat and the inevitable bout of self-hatred that makes its presence once again noticed.

Another deadline missed.

Taeyong sighs. An image of himself sitting unwashed and unshaven in the middle of a dingy room with stacks of dirty clothes and recycled instant ramen bowls passing for furniture flashes through his mind. Midway through the thought, he finds himself smiling, only to grin even wider at catching himself feeling giddy, solely because the idea of living on bowls of instant noodles beats crying himself to sleep at his parents’ house over failed biochemistry exams.

Keeping one side of his face glued to his laptop keyboard, he blindly reaches for his phone and, with the swipe of a thumb, turns off the alarm which he had set as part of a new studying technique he’d been trying out for the past three days. It’s called the Pomodoro technique. Try it. Works wonders for me, he remembers his study buddy Doyoung saying.

“Works like shit for me,” Taeyong mutters under his breath. He lifts his head from the keyboard, only to grimace when his laptop screen lights up to beam like a lighthouse amid the tar-black shores of his unlit bedroom.

After standing up to his father and catching the first bus to Seocho-dong on the same day to join a film production program—despite having graduated at the top of his high school and having passed as a candidate for scholarship in a prestigious medical program—Taeyong trained himself to be callous against inconveniences. He started doing so on that solitary bus ride to Seoul, where he spent hours sitting with one hand wrapped around the strap of a bulky backpack and the other white-knuckled around his phone. Unlike the self-doubts he’d been having up to that point, his mother’s messages and calls weren’t as easy to ignore.

To make his parents proud in his own way was a promise he made on that life-defining bus ride; but he never expected his own way to be defined by days made possible only by coffee, as well as days spent unwashed and sleeping in the library, alternating between dissociating, asking study tips from other people, watching cat videos, and—only after he’s accomplished what has been duly mentioned—actually studying.

Taeyong blames this on the belief that his idealistic, teenager self once adopted: that passion make things easier—a naive assumption that he still has to learn to grow out of.

He takes a deep breath, stares at the rendering video on his laptop screen, and blinks when his phone blares once again, vibrating with a seemingly newfound fervor against his script-ornamented table. Only, this time, it’s a call.

Taeyong answers but doesn’t greet the person on the other end. He spends a few seconds just listening, willing the other person to talk because he can’t bring himself to begin for some unknown reason, but—predictably—he gets nothing. And so, out of exasperation, he speaks into the receiver, “Jaehyun.”

“Ah, Taeyong,” Jaehyun says, voice suggestive of a smile Taeyong knows all too well. Crescent eyes and trench-deep dimples. “Mmm... Why are you calling me?”

“You were the one who called,” Taeyong deadpans. He looks at his reflection double-exposed on the window in front of him, using one hand to feel the keyboard-patterned creases on his right cheek. “How was the party?”

“Like that new studying technique you’ve been trying: _shhhhiiiiitttyyy_,” Jaehyun drawls.

Taeyong finds his reflection snickering in response, lips breaking into a wry smile at Jaehyun’s words. He feels easily amused all of a sudden. It must be the drowsiness, he thinks. “You should’ve just stayed and practiced for that singing final you have like I told you to.”

“That’s not until Friday next week... and, besides, why would I spend a weekend slaving away like you—”

“Okay, what do you need?” Taeyong interrupts. “Why did you call?”

Silence. Taeyong hears the sound of plastic rustling and glass bottles clinking from Jaehyun’s side.

After the moment passes, Jaehyun asks, suddenly sounding tired, “Can you come here?” There’s a pause before he lets out another heavy breath against the receiver and adds, “Can you come and pick me up?”

Taeyong’s hand stops tracing the creases on his cheek. He casts a glance at his laptop screen and momentarily occupies himself with closing his work. He clears his throat by faking a cough and shuts his laptop screen down almost too hard, almost as if he’s trying to compensate for the silence that’s serving as a semblance of his reply towards Jaehyun.

“Taeyongieee. Are you still there?” Jaehyun pesters him, using one of his made-up Taeyong nicknames for good measure. “Don’t hang up when you’re the one who called. That’s rudeeeee.”

Taeyong sighs and transfers his phone to his other hand. “You sound drunk, Jaehyun,” he says. It’s a deduction; there’s simply no way Jaehyun would act like this while sober. A sober Jaehyun would tease and act cute to get what he wants but would never ask other people something so vulnerably like this Jaehyun just did, especially after what had happened three months ago.

Three months ago, Taeyong idly reflects. Jaehyun was drunk then too.

“I’m not. I’m very super— sober. Very sober. Like, I’m already hungover.” A laugh. “Actually, it’s _you _who sounds drunk. But... it’s okay? Your voice sounds really good over the phone—”

“You ass. Don’t start or I’ll hang up,” Taeyong says. Then, after a sigh: “Why?”

“Why... Why what? I don’t know... your voice just—”

“No. I meant come there. Pick you up. Why should I?”

“Oh. Mmm... Cause...”

Taeyong stands up. With his phone still in one hand, he heads to the bathroom and splashes water onto his face. The soft material of Jaehyun’s haphazardly-thrown, fire truck red pullover jacket touches his thigh as he sits down to fix his shoelaces by the doorstep and he sighs, thinks of the many times he’s had to put Jaehyun’s things properly where they belong. Despite the sudden urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, he takes the jacket and slings it over his arm.

He prods Jaehyun who’s been silent for the past three or five minutes, “Your reason. Tell me.”

“You don’t really need to know,” comes the reply, voice somber and suddenly devoid of the easy, uninhibited playfulness that comes with inebriation.

Taeyong starts to wonder if Jaehyun’s really drunk or just lonely. Perhaps—a thought comes to his mind—it’s both. “Jaehyun,” he prompts. “I won’t come to get you without a reason.”

“Fine.” Jaehyun clears his throat. “Because I... I need you... here. Only you,” he says, stumbling over his words. “I think. Tell me if it’s stupid. You don’t need to come—”

“You’re a mess,” Taeyong cuts him off. He steps out of his and Jaehyun’s shared dorm room, letting out—against his better judgment—what seems to be a disarmed mix between a laugh and a sigh. This again, he thinks with the shake of the head. He wills himself not to let Jaehyun’s words sink too deeply where they hit. “Where are you? Still at Johnny’s?”

“No. I’m... At... at the convenience store? The place where we used to get soju.” Jaehyun says, then he lets go of a little laugh too. “Thank you.”

Taeyong doesn’t ask Jaehyun for another reason aside from the one he just gave: _I need you here_. Maybe it’s another naive assumption, whatever he feels were implicated in those words and in the manner that the younger said it. But Jaehyun, Taeyong thinks, sounded like he really meant it this time. And so he goes.

“Okay. Stay there.”

This isn’t the first time Taeyong’s seen Jaehyun drunk.

They’ve shared drinks at the dorm before. Just the two of them. Usually as an end-of-semester thing. Jaehyun would stay at the dorm, drink, and watch a movie with Taeyong; and then spend the next day out with his own circle of friends.

“I just don’t like partying when I’m running on only two hours of sleep,” Jaehyun has said before, when asked why he was at the dorm rather than at the local bar. “Besides, drinking with you is fun. It’s relaxing.”

And Jaehyun was right. Drinking together on the last day of the semester _did_ offer its own kind of solace. They always ended up sleeping soundly in the living room during those nights. It became a custom for them, to unwind without having to socialize with others, to have the little peace their worlds can offer just for themselves for a night—albeit a very torpid and drunken one.

They always used to drink together out of routine, at least until their fourth semester in college, the semester when Jaehyun was sure he was going to transfer to another dorm without a weekday curfew. Third year as a Theatre Arts Major meant more late night practices, after all.

Taeyong’s memory of the last time he spent drinking with Jaehyun still hasn’t completely cleared up even after three months. But he does believe he remembers enough of the important parts to learn never to ask or talk to Jaehyun about it. Besides, it’s not like Jaehyun remembers.

Jaehyun had already packed and was ready to leave their shared room the morning after that night. Taeyong had helped him and, as a token of his thanks, got treated by Jaehyun to a few greasy boxes of Chinese takeout.

“We should’ve just ordered pizza,” Jaehyun said as he eyed the droplets of oil swirling around in his soup.

“I don’t know.” Taeyong shook his head, letting his back fall rearwards to rest against the couch pillows. Only two bottles of beer in but his head was already buzzing, albeit pleasantly. He never was much of a drinker. He didn’t like the loss of control drunkenness entailed, but somehow he found it okay to chug one or two bottles down with Jaehyun. “The dumplings look like you,” he said with a smile, his eyes closing, body snug against the couch cushion. “So I think it’s kind of fitting. For a farewell, I mean.”

“You mean you like the idea of eating me?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I wouldn’t feel weird if you say you do.”

“Fuck, Jaehyun, you’re too drunk for this. _I’m_ too drunk for this.”

“Just tipsy, actually.”

Then, the usual: Jaehyun confessed, like he always does when drunk. “I like you,” he said, dazed and smiling, dimples showing easily, a cheek pressed against Taeyong’s knee as he turned to gaze up at the elder because he was sat on the floor.

Taeyong remembers thinking he would have thought it sweet—cinematic, even; what with the way Jaehyun bit his lip after as if the confession had the weight of history, as if he had spent years working up the courage to say what he said and so felt like he deserved an answer—if only Jaehyun didn’t do it every time he’s had enough to drink and forget about it the morning after. Taeyong had to learn about this final stage of Jaehyun’s drunken habit the hard way after the first time it happened; waking up the next day to find that the younger has a despicably unreliable memory-recall for the things he does and says when drunk wasn’t really a good way to start a morning.

But, that night, something was different. Or, to be more accurate, something _went_ differently. Maybe it was how Jaehyun bit his lip after letting go of his usual confession. Maybe it was how Taeyong thought Jaehyun looked very handsome that night with the light from the muted TV-screen painting soft shadows on his face. Maybe it was how Taeyong chuckled and muttered, voice low, words slow, “I’m going to miss you,” then pushed fingers through Jaehyun’s soft hair. Maybe it was how Jaehyun’s jaw slackened, mouth falling open before he turned to wrap a hand around Taeyong’s wrist, got up, and pressed his palms against Taeyong’s shoulders, pushing the elder down with little to no force.

Taeyong ended up lying on the worn out couch that night, with Jaehyun straddling his waist and hovering above him with a quiet, beseeching look on his face.

To this day, he still remembers that face: the set jaw, the furrowed brows, the few strands of hair dusting over tired eyes, the slight quiver of the upper lip, and the absence of dimples on the cheeks. Jaehyun seemed as if he was on the verge of crying.

It wasn’t meant to happen, but Taeyong placed a hand over Jaehyun’s nape. And, in response, Jaehyun leaned down ever so slightly—smelling of alcohol and intent—as if to tease, to say that he had an idea what the hand on his nape meant and was hoping Taeyong would confirm it for him. And so Taeyong closed his eyes, pulled Jaehyun down by the nape, and sighed as he pressed their lips against each other.

Neither of them had words, not even drunken ones, when they parted slightly after the first collision of lips against lips. They only had looks in their eyes—or, at least, Jaehyun did, something like relief behind his tears. He leaned down to kiss Taeyong back, mouth quivering yet compliant as Taeyong coaxed him open with a tongue. With a hand curled around the base of Taeyong’s head and another around the collar of Taeyong’s shirt as Taeyong shifted their positions to press him against the cushion and kiss him deeper than he knew they both intended, Jaehyun was finally crying, albeit silently, with his eyes shut and mouth open for anything that Taeyong planned to give him, as if to say, anything’s forgiven if we do it in our drunken-now. Now before tomorrow comes.

Everything after remains a temporal blur, the sequence of it all unclear. Taeyong remembers the sinking of the cushion beneath his head as Jaehyun went on top of him again, the sloppy licks and kisses against his neck and jaw, the feel of Jaehyun’s hair and scalp in his hands, the groan that escaped his throat when Jaehyun ground his hips down, oh how good it felt, _holy fuck Jaehyun_, and then Jaehyun’s “I’ll miss you too,” drowned out when he pushed down again to kiss Taeyong’s mouth—Taeyong pulls away, the images hitting him like a ton of cold bricks.

It must’ve been cause of Jaehyun’s leaving and the alcohol, he thinks in retrospect. Because of the fact that neither of them liked being lonely and knew they would seldom see each other after Jaehyun moves out of the dorm. Taeyong tells himself this, even though he knows people don’t just accidentally make out. Even though the reason still doesn’t answer how he found himself liking the feeling of kissing Jaehyun senseless amid toppled boxes of Chinese takeout, the muffled sound of the trashy action movie Jaehyun had rented, and the equally trashy way his heart was beating against his chest and throat.

“Cold. It’s cold,” Jaehyun mutters.

And, instantly, Taeyong finds himself back at a convenience store parking lot, with Jaehyun’s arm draped over his neck and the pungent smell of alcohol hanging heavy over their heads.

“You’re cold,” Taeyong repeats, more to himself than to the assemblage of limbs leaning against his body. He casts a glance around the empty lot and briefly contemplates seating Jaehyun on the pavement to call for a cab, only to mentally kick himself upon realizing that he’d forgotten to bring his wallet. The walk back to the dorms isn’t at all far, but Jaehyun can barely hold himself up without one of his ankles occasionally giving up on him.

“I prayed and hoped you’d be able to at least walk because I don’t want to haul your ass back to the dorms, but I guess the gods don’t pity agnostics either.” Taeyong clicks his tongue as he moves to palm Jaehyun’s front and back pockets to check for a wallet. He regrets his decision to do so as soon as Jaehyun laughs and slaps him lightly on the chest, pushing more weight on Taeyong whose knees almost give up at the movement.

“Hey, keep your hands to yourself.” Jaehyun giggles, cheeks flushed and lips curled up into a smile Taeyong would have thought disarming if it weren’t on an alcohol-laced, human-sized golden retriever. He bumps Taeyong’s hips with his own before hanging his head down and groaning, “Ugh, it’s _soooo_ cold.”

“Next time you decide to get this drunk I’m putting you on a leash,” Taeyong says as he contemplates becoming an atheist when he finds nothing but crumpled receipts in Jaehyun’s pockets. He steels himself for the impromptu weightlifting-walk to the dorms, stares at Jaehyun’s reddened ears, and sighs in defeat. “Stand still and put this on.”

Jaehyun only hums when Taeyong straightens him by the shoulders and helps him into what he recognizes as a cocoon of warmth (his own fire truck red pullover). As soon as Taeyong lets go, though, he latches back onto the other, laughing softly again as Taeyong carries his weight and walks slowly.

By the time they reach their room’s doorstep, Taeyong’s nursing not only a whining Jaehyun but also a pulled muscle on his right shoulder. Jaehyun had been quiet for the whole walk. And by quiet Taeyong meant non-conversational because Jaehyun’s mouth still ran nonsensical utterances, giggles, and horrible whines up the stairs. But, now, finally home, Jaehyun gains back what he seemed to have lost as he breathes out, positively grinning, “Thanks, Taeyong.”

“Just get inside,” Taeyong mutters. With one arm still wrapped firmly around Jaehyun’s waist, he opens the doorknob with his free hand, toes the door open, and resumes hauling the almost dead weight around his shoulders inside.

“The couch’s fine,” Jaehyun slurs, head back to hanging low past his shoulders. He lets out a grunt when Taeyong heeds his remark and dumps him not-so-gently on the couch, body landing with a bounce that stirs up the sleeping system of springs underneath the couch’s soft surface. “This must be how your rejected manuscripts feel like whenever you toss them to your shame pile,” he says, grimacing.

“Arms up,” Taeyong commands with a poorly concealed sigh, promptly ignoring Jaehyun’s last statement. He grips the ends of Jaehyun’s pullover and starts to pull it upwards after Jaehyun does as he says, earning him two gawking eyes from the other. “It’s warm inside,” he supplies, aiming to answer the quizzical look on Jaehyun’s face. He’d taken note of the change in temperature as soon as they entered their living room, had already decided on helping Jaehyun clean up before leaving him alone—a decision that he rationalizes as the best way to make sure he won’t have to clean someone else’s drunken mess tomorrow morning.

“Thanks,” Jaehyun says, jumping slightly and scooting to the edge of the couch when Taeyong leans and drops down to his feet. “I... I can take care of my pants and shirt just fine—”

Taeyong rolls his eyes, thumbs grazing Jaehyun’s left ankle as he pulls on Jaehyun’s sneakers. “I’m just gonna take your shoes off. Don’t make this weird.”

“Oh. Yeah. Haha.” Jaehyun chuckles. “Definitely nothing weird with that. Yeah, thanks.”

“Seems like we’re thanking a lot today,” Taeyong teases as he puts Jaehyun’s shoes aside, stands up, and pats his pants clean. “You didn’t have too much to drink, did you?”

Jaehyun shakes his head, though he knows Taeyong didn’t really need an answer. He watches in silence as Taeyong picks up his jacket and shoes—presumably to place them in the laundry romper or, in the case of his shoes, by the doorway—and leaves the room, reemerging later to ask him if he needed anything else. To this, Jaehyun merely shakes his head once again.

“Okay. Well, I’ll be in my room,” Taeyong says, scrunching his nose at the smell of alcohol still strong in the air. He turns to leave, only to face Jaehyun again to say, “I’m never doing this again, okay? So next time you get this drunk, call your other friends instead.”

“I don’t want to call my other friends,” Jaehyun says almost too abruptly, so much so that he feels himself taken aback when Taeyong raises an eyebrow. “I mean, you’re different.”

“Sure.” Taeyong nods, not really sure what to say. “And why is that,” he probes—if only to keep the conversation going, especially since Jaehyun looks almost the same as he did the last time he got drunk with Taeyong, eyes beseeching_. Because I need you here. Only you_. Taeyong shakes his head.

When Jaehyun doesn’t answer, Taeyong motions to leave again, only to be stopped by a hand around his wrist.

“Stay,” Jaehyun says.

And Taeyong thinks, how typical. If this were a drama, his body would’ve visibly recoiled towards Jaehyun’s touch to signify his internal shock. He’s studied this before for a class, has actually written a paper about it. Cameras would capture the moment at different angles and superimpose each scene over each other as an intense song plays to bring out all sorts of emotions from the viewers. Credits would roll with numerous sponsors showing up on the screen or the scene would cut for a commercial break. Typical.

Except, this isn’t a drama. And when Taeyong turns back around and stares at the indecipherable look on Jaehyun’s face before sitting down on the floor with his back against the couch and facing Jaehyun, there’s only a loaded silence—one that is only broken when Jaehyun speaks up to ask about his day: what have you been up to, what were you doing before I called, have you eaten, have you slept?

Taeyong answers each question truthfully; after all, he has no reason to lie, and Jaehyun sounded genuinely interested after asking each one anyway.

When the atmosphere ceases to be tense and awkward, and a comfortable silence reigns over the room after Taeyong answers the last question, Jaehyun asks, voice almost a whisper if it weren’t for the raspiness in his throat, “Can you... look here?”

Slowly, Taeyong turns around to gaze up at Jaehyun who’s sitting up on the couch, his cheek pressing against the younger’s knee. Belatedly, he realizes the familiarity of the situation and smiles at the thought. Some twisted sense of poetic justice, he thinks. Although the positions are switched, it feels just like that moment three months ago, but before Taeyong can pull himself away from the nostalgic trance, Jaehyun beats him to it and kisses him.

The kiss is rough and sloppy. Jaehyun makes the mistake of going into it as if to bite and so his teeth clashes audibly with Taeyong’s own. Nevertheless, Taeyong melts into the kiss, finds his neck arching and his mouth opening wider with a soft gasp, finds that he likes the feeling of Jaehyun’s fingers pulling on his hair. Finds that he missed this, even when he’s only done it once with Jaehyun before. And, in the middle of all these split-second revelations, finds that it’s happening again. With this kiss, Jaehyun has pulled them back to three months ago.

Taeyong tears himself away from Jaehyun with a gentle push.

“I like you,” Jaehyun says immediately, eyes eager to meet Taeyong’s. When he only gets a stare as an answer, he places a hand to cup Taeyong’s chin between his thumb and index finger, and adds, sounding breathless, “Like, really, _really_, like you.”

“Look, Jae— I’m flattered,” Taeyong says after a moment. He angles his face away from Jaehyun’s hand and sighs, eyes downcast and staring blankly at the space between Jaehyun’s socked feet. “But you have to stop doing this when you’re drunk and can’t remember shit the morning after.”

“Taeyong—”

Taeyong shakes his head. “I like... I like this. Kissing you and all.” He laughs, running a restless hand through his fringe as he continues to stare at Jaehyun’s damned feet. “But I feel like absolute shit knowing that you’re probably not aware we’ve done this before. We’ve kissed before.”

Silence. Taeyong contemplates getting up and leaving. It’s not like Jaehyun would remember if he did so the next day, anyway.

Suddenly, Jaehyun says, “I know. I remember.”

Taeyong’s hand stops from making a mess of his hair. The elder looks up to face Jaehyun and stares.

“And I’m sober,” Jaehyun continues when Taeyong doesn’t say anything. “I sobered up when you were walking me home, so what I just said earlier... I meant it.”

“_What_,” is all Taeyong can say in response. He doesn’t know what to address first: the fact that Jaehyun remembers what happened three months ago, the fact that Jaehyun just confessed while sober, or the fact that he carried Jaehyun’s heavy weight up five flights of stairs when the younger was perfectly capable of walking. He settles for the third: “I hauled your ass up five flight of stairs for _nothing_?”

“Not really. I was still too weak to walk properly—”

Then, a question that applies to all of Taeyong’s concerns: “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Taeyong looks back to three months of silence and feels his breath hitching, hands balling into fists. But he only curses under his breath; he can’t find himself to be sufficiently angry at Jaehyun, not when he, himself, didn’t say anything about that night either. But, still.

“Sorry. I was a coward,” Jaehyun begins. “I called you up earlier to talk about it, actually. But... I got scared again. So I asked you to pick me up.”

Taeyong stands up, nails digging into his palms. His voice comes up an octave higher when he says, “Scared? Of what? You’ve confessed to me more than once, Jaehyun. If you haven’t grown a thicker skin from all those times you said you liked me as if I wouldn’t be affected—”

“I haven’t,” Jaehyun says, bowing his head, and Taeyong looks at him. _Really_ looks at him this time, although all he can see at the moment is only Jaehyun’s reddened ears. “You’re not exactly easy to confess to, you know?”

“Today’s the fifth time you’ve done it, so find a better reason.” Taeyong clicks his tongue. His hands find their way back into his hair as he sighs in frustration. “_God_, you’re such a dick. How’s the fact that you can’t tell me you like me when you’re not drunk _my _problem?”

Another pause.

Then, Jaehyun sighs, hands coming up to cover his face. He puts them down just as quickly, shakes his fringe away, and looks at Taeyong squarely in the eyes before speaking. “Okay. I’m sorry. You’re right,” he says. “Don’t laugh at me. It’s just— It’s, _fuck_, you’re just so _amazing_.”

Taeyong stills, feels his shoulders and fists slackening instantaneously at Jaehyun’s words. He lets the younger continue:

“I’ve known you for two years now, and I’ve never seen anyone work as hard as you do.” Jaehyun chuckles. “Hell, the only reason I thought it would be okay to call you up earlier was because I knew you’d still be awake and working.

“And you really _were_ working. You’re the only reason I thank the heavens that humans need to sleep because I know you wouldn’t sleep if it were optional.”

Taeyong crosses his arms. “Well—”

“Don’t lie,” Jaehyun tuts. “You’re so fucking hardworking that it’s more of a fault now than it is a desirable character trait, but I like you for it. When you pass out on your desk, I like the idea of coming into your room and finding you asleep so I can put a blanket over your shoulders. I mean, you don’t need anyone to take care of you. I know that, but. Yeah.”

A sigh. Jaehyun places his face behind his hands again, the redness of his ears and cheeks alarming. “And, you know what? That’s not all, Taeyong. I—”

“Wait, Jaehyun. You don’t actually have to say everything. I get it already—” Taeyong attempts to cut him off, but Jaehyun persists.

“I think you’re really, _really_, fucking _pretty,_” Jaehyun breathes out, voice muffled by the hands pressed against his face. He shakes his head. “It’s so unfair. Sometimes. No, most of the times. I just look at you and it’s... it’s like. _Wow_, you know?”

At that, Taeyong finds himself laughing, cheeks warm and throat constricting. “Like, _wow_? Are you _sure _you’re not drunk? Because we’re reaching a degree of honesty here that I think we’ve never been on before.”

Jaehyun tears his hands away from his face. When he looks up, he’s facing Taeyong with a look that says he’s trying his best to sport a neutral face but doing so is starting to prove to be physically painful: his ears and cheeks are red, his dimples betray him, the corners of his mouth twitch, and there’s a faint glint in his eyes. Once again, Jaehyun looks as if he’s on the verge of crying. But, this time, it’s for a different reason.

“You’re embarrassed,” Taeyong points out the obvious. He watches, a wry smile ornamenting his face at the sight of Jaehyun recoiling from his words.

“It’s nothing. I’ve probably said worse stuff when I was drunk,” Jaehyun tries.

Taeyong smiles even wider at this. “Actually, no. You’ve never called me ‘pretty’ to my face before.”

“I haven’t?” Jaehyun says. The look he gives Taeyong is only an actual stomach ache away from constipation. “Well, fuck.”

“It’s okay,” Taeyong says as he starts to walk closer to Jaehyun. When he stops, he’s right in front of the younger who looks up at him. “I actually want to hear more,” he continues, and in a moment of unforeseen boldness, wrap his arms around Jaehyun’s neck for leverage as he lowers himself to straddle the younger’s hips, smirking when Jaehyun stiffens visibly at the contact. “So tell me more,” he finishes. “Everything you’ve ever wanted to say. Tell me. You’ve got three months to make up for.”

Despite the sudden proximity, Jaehyun takes Taeyong seriously. Almost as if he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, he places them palms-flat onto the couch and uses them to support himself and Taeyong’s weight above him as he leans slightly towards the back cushion, the sound of the metal coils springing alive beneath the couch’s surface emphasizing the movement. “Sometimes,” Jaehyun begins with a sigh. He looks at everything around the room except for Taeyong’s face in front of him. “You drive me crazy.”

Taeyong hums, sounding satisfied despite his question: “Only sometimes?”

“Hey, no need to get cocky.” Jaehyun laughs, the sound of it hollow and self-deprecating. He keeps his head turned away from Taeyong. “You’re so _way_ out of my league that it drives me crazy sometimes. I’m lucky we’re roommates; I wouldn’t know how to approach you if we weren’t. Not like I’d have the chance...”

At that, Taeyong frowns. His hold around Jaehyun’s neck tightens a bit as he contemplates what to say to deny everything Jaehyun just said. But, he figures, at times like this, words alone don’t really do much for people with skulls as thickened with doubt as Jaehyun’s. And so he asks, “What exactly do you mean when you say I drive you crazy?”

“You know what I mean,” Jaehyun says.

“No. I don’t.”

“This.” Jaehyun gestures vaguely, eyes closing as he does so. “Everything at the moment.”

Taeyong hums again. He lifts Jaehyun’s hands from where they are planted on the couch and places them on either side of his waist. “Is _this _also crazy?”

Jaehyun can only nod.

“Then what is this,” Taeyong starts. He waits until Jaehyun looks him in the eyes before continuing. Then, without so much of a warning, he rolls his hips down, crotch rubbing lightly against Jaehyun’s. “Insane?” he says. He’s unable to stop the smug smile that fills out his face when Jaehyun groans loudly in response to the contact.

“Fuck,” Jaehyun curses, hands burying fingers on either side of Taeyong’s waist on reflex.

Taeyong feels his breath hitch at the sensation of Jaehyun’s nails digging into his sides. He finds that he likes it—wants more of it—and so he moves again, the friction he gets as he rubs himself against the visible tent around Jaehyun’s crotch sending needle-like shivers to his spine. He feels a little light-headed, and his chest swells when Jaehyun sputters:

"Ah— _Fuck_, yes. Insane. Mad. Unhinged. Taeyong—"

Taeyong swallows Jaehyun’s words with an open-mouthed kiss, revels in the way Jaehyun reels back just slightly in shock. Any semblance of hesitance is gone once Taeyong swipes an eager tongue over Jaehyun’s lower lip, after which Jaehyun pushes in and kisses back, tongue warm and wet against Taeyong’s. There’s a faint smell and taste of alcohol in the kiss that Taeyong finds just enough to be intoxicating, and he breathes in to get more of it, mouth letting out a muffled gasp against Jaehyun’s own when Jaehyun places a hand on his nape to hold him as he angles his neck and deepens the kiss.

He’s been wanting this for months, Taeyong realizes in a sudden wave of self-consciousness prompted by Jaehyun’s hand slipping under his shirt. The touch is blind yet grasping, creeping up his skin with all the intent to feel the dip of his navel, the softness of his stomach, and the firmness of his chest, where the hand stops to spread its fingers tentatively before closing in on and squeezing around a hardened nub. Taeyong keens at the touch, feels a surge of power thrumming through his veins when Jaehyun pants into the kiss as if he’s been waiting months to touch him too; he pushes down at the thought, rubs and presses his clothed hard-on against Jaehyun’s with purpose.

“_Shit_,” Taeyong hisses, eyes rolling backwards as he breaks away from the kiss and arches his chin upwards to let Jaehyun lick, kiss, and nip the skin of his neck. He’s wanted this for so long and—now that he has it—can’t help but feel good. “There,” he says when Jaehyun thrusts upwards at an angle, both hands on Taeyong’s waist now. “So good, Jae—”

Jaehyun moans, the sound guttural in his throat. Taeyong echoes it just the same with his own raspiness, both hands coming up to rake fingers through Jaehyun’s hair as he pulls the younger down for another heated kiss. His jeans start to feel tight around his crotch area, but he can’t find himself to care, senses zeroing in on all the contact spots between him and Jaehyun: the soft texture of Jaehyun’s hair tangled in his fingers, the sweet pain that comes after Jaehyun bites down on his lower lip, the iron-like taste of blood from broken skin, the way Jaehyun’s breath fans over his cheek and jaw, the bruising hold Jaehyun has around his hips, and the mindless-feverish contact between their crotches.

Taeyong feels a familiar warmth stirring in his stomach. Jaehyun feels too good and hard against him like this, and the added friction from their pants and underwear only pushes him closer to the edge. He wants so badly for Jaehyun to push him against the couch like before, to kiss and touch him even more and say all the things he confessed earlier in this new context: _You drive me crazy_ and _I need you. Only you_. The thought makes Taeyong’s toes curl and he pushes himself impossibly closer to Jaehyun.

Then, suddenly, Jaehyun speaks up, “I like you,” he says, all ideas of gracefulness and poignancy associated with confessions replaced by a dirty and feral breathlessness as he plants his face against Taeyong’s chest. “I-I’m close.”

Grabbing Jaehyun’s head with the fingers he has around the younger’s hair, Taeyong licks the silky skin behind the shell of Jaehyun’s ear and says, “I like you too.”

And, just like that, Jaehyun chokes out a moan. He sinks his teeth onto one side of Taeyong’s exposed collarbone as his shoulders stiffen and shake.

It doesn’t take much for Taeyong to realize that Jaehyun is coming raw and hard in his pants. He holds the younger through his orgasm, plants open-mouthed kisses against the younger’s cheek, and—when Jaehyun finally turns around, still gasping—recaptures Jaehyun’s mouth against his.

It takes a while for Jaehyun to come down from his high. When the younger finally does, Taeyong finds himself being made to lie down on the couch. And then there are hands snaking up under his shirt, pulling it upwards so that Jaehyun’s lips can press soft kisses onto his stomach.

“Sorry.” Jaehyun smiles sheepishly against Taeyong’s skin. He pats a hand against Taeyong’s stomach and says, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

“Don’t be. It’s okay,” Taeyong reassures him. He hasn’t exactly found release like Jaehyun has, but his lungs are burning, every breath that escapes him becoming more labored by the second. This, however, doesn’t stop him from seizing the opportunity to tease the younger, who looks down at him with expectant eyes.

“Coming while fully-clothed?” Taeyong says. “That’s gotta be what you meant when you said I drive you crazy.” He expects a scathing rebuttal delivered with a look of pure indignation, but he gets a soft laugh from Jaehyun instead.

“Maybe. Yeah,” Jaehyun admits. There’s a boyish grin on his face that pushes up his red, dimpled cheeks. “You got your proof.”

He looks pleasantly fucked right off his mind, Taeyong thinks, observing the mussed-up fringe that falls just above Jaehyun’s dilated eyes. Jaehyun’s lips glow a rude red too, mirroring the colors of what seems to be a mark on the right side of his neck. And, just like that, Taeyong remembers the leaking hardness beneath his pants.

“Your turn,” he says as he tugs at Jaehyun’s belt loops to bring Jaehyun close. He wraps legs around Jaehyun’s waist, caging the younger in front of him. “Drive me crazy.”

Jaehyun obliges. “Understood,” he says with a slight nod. And with the dip of his neck, he catches Taeyong’s lips against his and kisses him, tenderly yet mercilessly into the couch.

**Author's Note:**

> don't ask me; i don't know what happened there either. but you can definitely talk to me about it here, on [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/lotsofbluejaes), or on [ curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/lotsofbluejaes) if you feel like it.


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